


Roar

by MagnusOpum



Series: Make A Sound [1]
Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Alpha Jude Adams Foster, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Eating Disorders, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Food Issues, Food Storing, Identity Issues, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jude-centric, M/M, Mating Bites, Nesting, Omega/Omega, Pretending to be an omega, Season 1, Slow Burn, Underage Kissing, WIP, canonical sexual abuse, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21803653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnusOpum/pseuds/MagnusOpum
Summary: Updates Every Sunday. ("Every Sunday, reaaally? Haven't proved that so far." "Gimme time.") All quotes are from The Fosters (full credit for the quotes and characters), and if you have any thoughts, feel free to comment....Pack. Mate. Food.Home. Love. Callie. Family. Dreams.Alpha wants little and Jude wants lots, but both must seek compromise to evade the cluing in of the kind family Jude has just been placed with. Discovery equals a one-way ticket to the Troubled Alphan Children's Centre For Adolescent Boys, and everyone knows that if a foster kid ends up there, they never leave. Lena and Stef seem nice, but everyone seems nice at first and these Omegas don't even know their own kids. Mariana is selling drugs, Jesus is starving himself, Brandon is... Okay, Jude is really worried about Brandon... and Callie is running away, again.Jude can't deal, and he can't tell them. It's better to just shut his mouth, make a nest, and pretend to be an Omega for a while. Delta knows, they have it easier. Maybe Connor will even like him then if he's all smooth and soft and submissive. After all, two Alphas can never be together, right?
Relationships: Callie Adams Foster/Wyatt Casey, Jesus Adams Foster/Emma Kurtzman, Jesus Adams Foster/Hayley Heinz, Jesus Adams Foster/Lexi Rivera, Jude Adams Foster/Connor Stevens, Lena Adams Foster/Stef Adams Foster, Mariana Adams Foster/Lexi Rivera
Series: Make A Sound [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571197
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Roar

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This work is updated every Sunday. I haven't finished The Fosters, I am in the middle of Season 2. So, please no spoilers in the comments. Also, let it be known that Jude will be overly sexual (or understand sexual things) or overly violent (even seeing killing as an option) due to his IPS and constant proximity with his deep biological instincts - otherwise known as Alpha. 
> 
> I'm also trying to take a bit of a different take with A/B/O, as I generally see Omegas as the underprivileged class; in this I'm presenting a post-Omegan revolution, where Omegas now have equal rights, and Alphas are suffering from certain societal stigmas. E.g. no Alphas allowed in Omegan Domestic Violence Shelters and the majority of Alphas perceived as brutes/violent by the medical community, or just lesser than.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think.

_Young children’s minds will do almost anything to remain intact. Some children develop survival habits – such as closing off, food-storing, selective mutism, and extreme clinginess. Some cope through rage, and lash out at others through violence, temper tantrums, hurtful words – sometimes presenting as a stand-offish attitude or pushing people away before they are pushed away, in order to preserve their sanity from the perils of rejection. Others internalise this fury, turning to methods such as drugs, self-harm, alcoholism or promiscuity to exert control over their lives and control these rampant feelings; often being at the mercy of perhaps even suicidal thought processes. If the abuse is extreme enough, and at a young enough age, some children develop multiple personalities, in which segments of the brain split in order to compartmentalise and cope with insurmountable stresses. Some children develop manipulative tendencies and an ability to read other’s emotions – if your foster child lies, hides mistakes and plays up to you excessively, do not be alarmed. Be a calm stable influence, and inform them that even if they make mistakes, they can come to you and feel safe around you, even when they act out or be themselves._

_Some children subdue their inner Alpha or Omega and force it to remain dormant. In some abusive situations, such as with omegaphobic households or sexual abuse, this is a necessary survival tactic. This is known as “Repressed Dynamic Disorder”. In child-abuse cases, the instances of stunted Omegan growth is almost twelve times more likely than in that of an unharmed child – and in Alphas, twice that. This is common knowledge, of course, with an internationally nominated documentary about RDD (Down Dog by Sarah Willingham) hitting cinemas across the globe just last year (2011), and the DSM-V now recognising RDD as a serious condition and teaching it to psychologists in all universities or Dynamic-based fields (such as the National Dynamics Research Facility, in Omega Heat Houses, Alpha Rut Villages and Domestic Violence Shelters [which Alphas are prohibited entry from, for the safety of the Omegan or child inhabitants].)_

_However, in some cases, even rarer than that of dissociative identity disorder, a child as young as 6 or 7 can manage to communicate with their inner dynamic, often referred to as a “protector” or “imaginary friend”. This Protective (as it is called in IPS) is not a separate or co-conscious personality, but a biological drive that has gained sentience. Through this communication, it is possible to control whether or not they Present, i.e. can control their heat-drive and rut-cycles, and their interactions with other Omegan and Alphan people. Often mistaken by physicians as Repressed Dynamic Disorder, what is known by the scientific community as “Inner Protector Syndrome” can lead to antisocial disorders such as BPD or APD and violent tendencies, as this internal “protector” is driven mainly by biological instincts that – even if they kept the child safe in abusive circumstances – cannot fully assimilate into our modern society. This is not so common in Omegan children, whose drives are relatively harmless and primarily promote submissive behaviours such as food-storing, nesting, child-gathering or pack-rearing (the collection of other children, stuffed toys and/or dolls, in order to resemble a family unit which they can then nurture and protect). However, Inner Protector Syndrome often presents dangerously in Alphan children, leading to premature mating (and issues with consent, that is only enhanced by the abusive situation they have left behind), aggressive tendencies (displays of dominance, neck-biting of other Omegan or Alphan children), delusions of grandeur, killing of animals (to “provide” for whatever established family unit they have created), premature sexual activities (often associated with displays of dominance), teeth-baring, and a rate of recidivism into Juvenile Detentions of almost six times the general population._

_The majority of_ _Alphan children_ _who acquire IPS die before the age of 20, a startling 80%, and from the remainder of that 70% face a long-term prison sentence, while the other 30% spend their life in long term medical care. However, recent medical strides in IPS give hope for this deadly disorder. The up-and-coming Ibenotol (a Dynamic suppressor, that comes off as a variant of rut and heat suppressants) that is still being verified by the FDA_ _looks_ _promising, and extensive behavioural therapy_ _implemented_ _during_ _early childhood development_ _has shown to have a positive degree of success upon children, but has yet to show results in adolescents over 14. As IPS is so predominant in foster children, it is vital to understand such a condition and keep an eye out for changes or possible symptoms in your foster child. As stated above, if caught early enough, there is a chance for complete recovery and a relatively normal assimilated life._

_In any case, it is important to be patient with your foster child, even if destructive. Lay down the law, be explicit with what you expect, but do not shout or punish them in anger; Calmly explain what was done incorrectly. Children learn morality through their parents, and are very action-based. If you smack or shout at your foster child, they will not necessarily know what they did was wrong; they will learn that it is okay to smack or shout people, and that you cannot be trusted_ _to respond well to_ _their secrets, and will therefore find it difficult to confide in you._

_-_ **A Foster Carer’s Index; Chapter 12 (abused-children’s coping mechanisms). (2012)**

Alpha is prowling in the back of Jude’s head. He can feel him shifting, like the rustling of shadows, always patient, always careful, always watching. Jude never gets a moment alone; but he doesn’t mind that. Bad things happen when he’s left alone. Bad things still happen, even with Alpha there, but at least he has a witness to his suffering. Someone to say to him _that’s not right, Jude. That’s not right._

Of course, if Callie were here, she’d say that too. She’d step in front of him, like she always does, and take the hit. Take the cigarette burn. Take Liam. She’d smile too, brittle and defiant. _You can’t defeat me. You can’t break me._ He wishes he were like that, not so willowy and pale and thin. He wants to burn up like a thousand roaring suns. His teeth wouldn’t chatter in the cold. He’d sleep like a rock, even on lumpy mattresses, as if they were fine linens. He’s super-man. He can speak, he can stare down lightning storms, he can fight. He wants to drive to Indiana, to Alabama, to California, to wherever they have happiness shelved in supermarkets. He wants to smash up Mister Sawyer’s precious Trans Am with a baseball bat, with manic eyes, and a sun-tan, and go to Juvie and keep on saying _I’m invincible_. Years ago, longer than he can remember now, he’d wished for that with all his might, but all he’d gotten was Alpha.

He can wish all he likes, but he’s still here. Alone. With Alpha and Mister Sawyer. Just the three of them, and Jude’s the smallest one in the room.

Just great.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear; the deep thumping of Mister Sawyer lands behind him.

“Spin, son.” The bulky man orders, softly. Probably saving his voice for later for when he’s screaming at their electricity providers as the lights thunder on and off.

Jude’s eyes flicker up from the dishes, hands burning from the detergent. He gulps, once, skin screaming in discomfort. He spins on the spot and meets the glowing irises of Mister Sawyer. Playing diminutive, and sensing the palpable rage, he lowers his eyes and tilts his neck.

Alpha shrieks in pain, banging his head against the walls of Jude’s brain. He doesn’t seem to like it when Jude goes all Omega Bitch.

Mister Sawyer shoves an empty beer can into Jude’s chest, hand knuckled around it. Jude’s shaking hand becomes steady as he grips it, as if Alpha is holding his hand and stilling it. It’s still cool from the fridge. He’s really shucked this one, it seems. He catches himself on his back leg, loose from the force of it, and places the beer can on the kitchen side, beside the single spit-clean TV dinner. Jude’s grumbling stomach reminds him of his sins; he’d forgotten the lawn this morning, dinner as his penalty.

Jude has never been good at bowing down; it might explain why he always seems to be in trouble. He follows orders, sure, but all his foster carers seem to smell the insubordination on him. He can’t shake his disrespect, no matter how much he doesn’t want to be hurt again. He still remembers his real parents, and he knows his dad is out there somewhere, waiting until he can go out and find Jude and Callie. They can all be a family again. Having known loving parents, he knows what his foster carers do can’t be right. He just needs to wait until Dad’s out from prison. He knows this with all his heart.

“Keep cleaning, son.” Mister Sawyer grunts, attention half on the blaring football on the screen. An announcer’s shrill voice announces the score, again.

_Louis_ _scores_ _another goal for the Padres. They’re on fire, tonight!_

Jude returns to the dishes, scraping deeply. Alpha is heavy in his mind tonight; he can’t help but sweat a little. _Omegas and Alphas_ _watching tonight, we’re very pleased to see you! O_ _h who are we kidding? We ain’t no Alphas here!_

“Son,” Mister Sawyer’s voice is a dangerous quiet.

_We’re warriors!_

“I said, son.” A cold feeling seeps into Jude’s bones. What has he done this time?

_Warriors_ , laughs Alpha coldly.He only ever speaks to deride people and order Jude around. Alpha is like an unwelcome older brother, always trying to get Jude in trouble, always telling him to hurt things and sniff people and hold his head high and eat raw meat.

_And that’s another pass from Louis to Jeffrey, intercepted by Grade on the left-side. What a save!_

“Spin, son. Face me.”

Jude turns slowly, heart palpitating in his chest. He’s just a kid locked in his head.

Mister Sawyer cracks a knuckle. Jude can see every line and sun spot on his dried out face. He’s like a living raisin. The glow of his eyes is faded, as all eyes do, but the fire behind them is as hot as ever. Mister Sawyer isn’t prone to violence– he prefers labour, says it’s more productive than a belting as it gets the dishes done at the same time – but he lashes out on occasion. Like that time he caught Jude wearing his ex-wife’s dress. That dark blue silken one that had made him feel invincible, it fell all the way to the floor. It had flown when he’d spun. It had danced when he’d danced. Jude thinks it was almost worth it and he likes to think, even now, that every crack of Mister Sawyer’s fists had simply been a love song for his old deceased Alphan wife. The pain is faded now, but he still remembers the acute guilt at seeing the tears at the corners of Callie’s eyes when she’d seen him, all bloodied up and messed about. His whole face had been rearranged, and he'd wondered, in that moment, if he looked like a Picasso painting; all inorganic shapes and bulging angles. He’d wondered if he’d die then, if his song had finally rung out, but then he’d seen that grim smile on Callie’s mouth and known that he’d live to see another day. He can’t bear to think of what he, or Alpha, would do if Callie were to ever die, and he'd thought that maybe that explained why Mister Sawyer had hurt him. He'd thought maybe Mister Sawyer was just missing his wife. Jude had thought what he'd do if Callie ever died. He can't imagine it. Maybe he’d go crazy if someone wore her jacket, without even asking. Maybe he’d hit someone. Beat them bloody. Alpha sure would, he knows that much.

Mister Sawyer is just an old unhinged Omega, and Jude must forgive him some crimes, surely.

The Omega of the House is soft-spoken and says little, and all Jude really knows about him is that he expects his house to be clean and organised, that he likes his gun to be polished twice daily and loaded with the safety off, and that he has pinned up newspaper clippings from local car accidents on his fridge. He has a bookcase in the living room, with grey urns of ashes on each shelf, unlabelled, and unread tomes on psychology and historical fiction in a multicoloured rainbow of words. He knows Mister Sawyer has never even opened them, as the spines are all unbroken. The bathroom has no Jif, and all the kitchen has is bleach and a foreign detergent that he can’t pronounce the name of. Jude calls it _Clean-o_ in his head. Jude has never entered his room, has never felt remotely curious in this chilled house, and he never plans to. He likes Mister Sawyer as a stranger.

Mister Sawyer knows nothing of Jude either, except that he’s good at cleaning and bad at cooking, takes up the space of his small fold-out bed in the spare room and that he can hear him crying through the walls some nights.

“Tell me, son,” He starts slowly, as if talking to a child. Alpha prowls forward to the front of Jude’s mind, waiting, always waiting. The hot moisture of Alpha’s breath makes the back of his neck tingle, as if Alpha is truly hovering right behind him, and sometimes Jude really forgets that Alpha is just in his head. Jude feels fangs elongate in his closed mouth and begin to drip, and the poison burns the roof of his mouth. He holds in a flinch of pain; when Mister Sawyer is speaking to him, he can’t move or speak or do anything a brick wouldn’t.

Mister Sawyer’s hand finds it way to the kitchen bench next to Jude’s hip, and he leans forward so close that Jude can smell the alcohol on his breath. Beer has a duller smell to it than the sharp sweetness of cooking sherry, but it’s reassuring, as it means Mister Sawyer is less drunk. He’s no light-weight, Jude knows, and he’s only had four beers so far this evening. He’s practically sober, if you think about it.

The TV seems to dim in the background and the world sways as Jude’s eyes blur.

“Tell me, son, do you think I’m a fool?”

Jude gulps as Mister Sawyer pokes an oily nose into his scent-gland, and sniffs roughly, twice. He clamps his eyes shut and holds his breath. He’s terrified, and he knows Mister Sawyer can smell it, because Omegas could smell out an ice cube in a rain storm. Alpha is peculiarly silent, but Jude can feel him taking a run-up in the back of his mind, his paws plodding on the soft tissue of his brain, claws digging into his spine as he balances off of the knobs of his back. Jude feels very much in this moment like a bike ramp. Mister Sawyer’s head falls further forward, his lips pressed to the vein of Jude’s neck. He could take a bite, so easily, and Jude would have to stay here forever. His whole body seizes. _Please, no._

“Did you think I wouldn’t _smell it on you_?” Mister Sawyer whispers the words, and Jude can feel every syllable on his neck, as his mouth takes shape. The _you_ is held out, drawn open, like a loose axle. His own lips open, and he mouths _help_ to this lonely empty house, knowing that no one can hear him. Maybe this is what prayer is; faithless pleas. Alpha is running, now, racing towards Jude’s eyes, and he knows this time he can’t keep him in. Alpha is made to protect and Jude can’t control him. He’s starting to not want to.

He digs his nails into his palms, the pain shrieking up his arms. “The stink. The _reminder_. I know an _Alpha_ when I _smell one_.” Alpha hears his name, and Jude cannot steer a ship underwater. “Did you think you could _hide this_? You _child_.”

====

Jude hits awareness hard, as if he’d slammed into the ground from a million miles away. His whole body aches, and he feels pain radiate down the back of his legs. Jude feels swollen and throbbing, as if someone had dug his heart out from his chest with a rusty shovel and transplanted it to the back of his thighs. It seems like a bit of a pointless operation, but Jude’s no doctor. The pain is soft in a distant sort of way, as if his vision is blurred and he can’t quite read the pain-signals or how he’s supposed to be feeling. His whole head feels swallowed up and split open at the same time, like if someone had cracked open a watermelon and chewed it up only to spit it back inside his skull. He tries to breathe, but it comes out sort of short, and his whole head is ringing like a siren. _BANG BANG BANG_. Something is definitely wrong.

Alpha is purring in his head, potently satisfied. Just the sound makes Jude tremble like a finely plucked violin, because anything that satisfies Alpha is already deeply wrong. He knows this from experience; the only three times Alpha has ever purred was when Callie smashed up Mister Sawyer’s car, when a confrontational red-head from his last school lost to Jude in a dominance battle, and when Jude threw a brick through the window of a church when a Minister had tried to console him over the death of his mother. Alpha never seems satisfied, and the fact that he is makes Jude think that either Mister Sawyer is dead or gravely injured and he’s just committed a Grade A felony.

_Hello, prison for life._

He rolls onto his side into the resuscitation position he’d learnt from junior high first-aid. Jude dares to open his crusted-closed eyes and sees how dark the room has become; night-time, his old friend. He’s still in the kitchen, but it is a removed sensation for him, as the twilight transports the dull antiseptic environment into a monochrome world of shadows and eerie sounds. The pale yellow fridge’s hefty looming shape is like an ancient dinosaur resurrected and the floral curtains that border the kitchen window are malignant spirits captured as shadow-puppets. Jude presses down on the ground, raising himself to his hands and knees, and groans. The black and white tiled linoleum is dirty, he thinks, brushing off the grime.

Jude blinks, swallows his dry mouth, and grunts himself to his feet. Alpha’s whine in his head, at being on two-feet instead of four, is half-hearted at best, and resembles more of a kitten’s growl than the intimidating presence he is used to. He stumbles his way over to the light-switch on the far wall, stepping carefully through the dark. As the electricity thrums to life, Jude winces, eyes complaining at the sudden onslaught. Grey spots clear, and…

Mister Sawyer. Lying. On the ground. Not moving.

He’d expected _something_ but he hadn’t ever thought Alpha could _kill_ someone. The world swoons around him, and he tries to find his land-legs. Jude’s heart stops, and he is frozen in indecision for a few moments thinking _Should I call 911? Should I hide the body? Oh Delta, am I a killer?_ , before the most out of place thing happens; the phone rings. Shocked from his stupor and reminded that the world goes on, he steps over Mister Sawyer’s prone body, avoiding the mess but noting with relief that there is no blood; that’s a good sign, right? Alpha picks himself up from the ground, curious despite himself.

Jude picks up the phone, clears his throat, and presses the landline to his cheek.

He bites his thumb, eyes nervously watching the Mister Sawyer-shaped lump on the floor. He wouldn’t want Jude answering the phone, especially since he hasn’t spoken in a few weeks, but not answering would be suspicious to anyone who knows him; Mister Sawyer always answers his phone. He never leaves the couch, after all, and it is always within arms’ reach.

Heavy breathing meets him on the line. His anxiety tightens, before, “Hey, hey, baby, it’s me.”

Jude hiccups up a disbelieving laugh. It’s Callie. Oh god, it’s Callie. His heart sings, and he wants this not to be a fever-dream. He wants to be with his sister so desperately that it hurts him.

“Yeah, I’m out, and I… I’m coming.”

“Callie,” he tries to whisper, but it doesn’t come out. All that comes out in a half-choked sort of cough. He can’t seem to say a word. Nevertheless, his heart blooms with uncontrollable warmth. Jude hugs himself, floating with relief. His pain dissolves into dust at just the sound of her voice. His pack bond hums with energy; the secret pack bond that no one can ever know about, because kids this young aren’t supposed to have Alphas. Alpha howls, even in all his cruelty he has always loved Callie, having missed her protective presence that Jude assumed he felt a sort of kinship with.

“I promise, Jude. I just, I got to figure out how to get there.” She sounds so certain, so assured. Jude has no idea where she is, how safe she is, who she’s staying with, but he knows one thing for certain; what Callie Jacobs sets out to do, Callie Jacobs does.

Jude smiles so hard his face hurts. He fidgets with his hands, waiting for her response with baited breath. A creak sounds from behind him, but Jude is too enraptured in the call to give it any notice.

Callie hums an affirmative, sounding distracted. Jude’s smile wanes; he knows her sounds and mannerisms back to front. She can’t talk long, he can tell. He stares down at the ground. Jude doesn’t want her to get into trouble for calling without permission, not if she could possibly get hurt from it, but he’s missed her so much that being the first to say goodbye seems like a special form of torture. _Keep her safe,_ he tells himself, _it’s your job to make sure she is, just as much as its hers_. Delta knows foster families have hurt her for much less in the past. When he remains silent, his headache returns with a vengeance, and he’s sure it’s Alpha prompting him. Alpha’s form of protection has always been the sort of tough-love that involved pain as punishment and relief from pain as reward.

_Just say something, Jude. Say. Something_. Words still escaping him, Alpha takes charge, “Maybe you need to go, Callie.” He sounds brisk and unkind, and Jude can tell that Callie knows something is wrong.

Callie lets out an uncertain sound, “Are you-?” Then, the phone cuts off. Phone ringing out, Jude lifts his head from the floor, Adrenalin beginning to spike once more.

Mister Sawyer has awoken, and found him on the phone. There is a sharp violet bruise blossoming on the top of his head; it doesn’t look painless, either. _What have you done, Alpha?_

“Son,” his grin is not a pleasant one, “What is the House Rule about phones?”

Jude hasn’t said a word since May and Mister Sawyer knows it. He can’t answer any questions.

Alpha’s claws scrape down his brain-stem, angry at his docility. Jude feels torn, and wishes he were anywhere but here. Can’t Alpha see that it’s his docility keeping them alive? Mister Sawyer has a curious sort of look, and begins to circle him, like a predator examining their latest meal. His eyes light up with an intrigue that is usually only spared for football.

“You are a strange boy, son. One minute, hitting me over the head with a beer can, the next, stammering like some sort of pathetic cowed dog.” Alpha hangs back, a silent presence, ready to strike once more. Mister Sawyer steps forward, every inch of him deadly and hungry. He cocks his head, “So, which is it, son? Who _are_ you?”

Jude wants to lower his eyes, to apologise, to take a hit and scamper off to his bed. He has mastered the trembling bottom lip, the wide watering eyes, the sincerity of apologetic words. He knows how to tilt his neck against all instincts, to splay himself out for punishment, to smile one way and think another. He is an expert in such lies. But, there is a monster in his head, and it bays for blood, for no mercy, for utter obliteration of all competition. His ‘protector’, Jude supposes. Alpha recognises the chain of a Pack, and knows that House Omega is greater than Child Alpha. Alpha wants to be put in his place; but more than that, Alpha wants to _own_ the place.

Against his will, against every human sense imaginable, Jude’s upper lip lifts like a puppet on a string, to reveal a single glistening canine. A challenge. Jude wishes he were dead as Mister Sawyer grins, eyes beady, and kneels down in front of Jude.

“Alpha,” Mister Sawyer says, _mockingly_ , but Alpha still preens at the recognition, dumb mutt that he is. Jude has never felt such hatred towards Alpha, not even when he asked him to strip skin from viscera and eat it, not even when he pissed all over Jude’s bed to mark it, not even when he ate a raw squirrel from the park and left the leftovers in the bed of a Callie who would be jittery for the next few weeks afterwards, spooked that she had a crazy stalker after her. Not even for putting him in this damned situation in the first place, for doing who knew what when Jude blacked out, for causing who knew what havoc. But this, the cherry on top, egging on Mister Sawyer, wanting to be called _Alpha_ , that’s just _asking_ to be hurt. That’s just masochism. Jude _hates_ Alpha, and his damn existence.

“Oh, I _get it_ , now. You, _Alpha_ , think you’re _better_ than me.”

Jude is shaking his head so desperately but his head isn’t moving. Mister Sawyer purses his lips, as Alpha tries to nod. As Alpha tries to leap up out of Jude’s skin and lock a jaw around Mister Sawyer’s neck and make a pack. He can see the agreement in Alpha’s eyes, and Jude wants to cry.

“You think that because I’m an _Omega_ , I need to bow to your every whim.”

Jude tries to say _no_.

“To be knocked _unconscious_.”

Jude wants to beg for forgiveness.

“To be mated, I suppose?”

Even Alpha is revolted at that, but Jude doesn’t know why and-

The thought is knocked out of his head by Mister Sawyer’s ruthless backhand. The man lifts from his knees, and removes his shoes, as if he needs to get comfy for this, and says, “Spit on me, son.”

The idea is ludicrous. Jude, first, is only a 12 year old, and Mister Sawyer is a towering man who could take him blind-folded and with hands tied behind his back. He would have to crane his neck back and spit impossibly far to even reach his chin. Second, Jude would never spit on a foster-carer; if he ever did, they would make sure to claw off every inch of skin from his back until he was just one quivering bruise moaning out in agony.

Mister Sawyer’s second slap knocks the wind out of him, and Jude feels his teeth clang together. The pain only registers a second later. He is delayed in feeling, now, a few seconds out of touch with himself.

  
“I said, _spit_ , son.”

Jude lifts his head, carefully, and Alpha is drooling at simply the thought of spitting on Mister Sawyer. He lets saliva gather in his mouth and purses his lips. He just needs to- Jude can’t quite follow through, though. It feels _wrong_ and he _knows_ he’s going to get in trouble for-

Another hit. This one causes his vision to black out, and he picks himself up, groaning, from the floor.

This time, Mister Sawyer doesn’t repeat the instruction, but he does begin to loosen his belt. This is like a strange version of hang-man, except instead of drawing on body parts for each incorrect letter, Mister Sawyer is pulling his belt out, hole by hole, hook by hook, for every second that Jude wastes. Preservation instinct kicking in, Jude spits a fat glob of saliva onto Mister Sawyer’s cheek.

Mister Sawyer doesn’t flinch, just continues undoing his belt. Jude spits again, thinking that perhaps he missed it. Maybe he didn’t feel it. Maybe he doesn’t understand that Jude is _obeying_. Alpha smacks his lips together at the sound of skin meeting spit; he wants to bite, not play with, his meal.

Mister Sawyer has brought his belt out now and is winding it slowly around and around his hand. Jude spits, again, again. Again. He can’t seem to move from the spot. Mister Sawyer pulls his arm back, all the way back, so far that it must stretch his shoulder muscle, getting ready for the down-swing of the belt, and Jude has to wonder if he does archery in his spare time. Of course, that’s a stupid question-

_Crack._

-because Mister Sawyer doesn’t go out, as far as Jude can tell-

_Crack._

-all he does is stay at home, watching the Padres. Jude wishes he knew archery-

_Crack._

-, just as he wishes he knew how to be like Callie, and drive, and speak up like super-man.

He can’t really feel his face, and Mister Sawyer is saying words, but he can’t hear it over the ringing in his ears, as if he’s standing at the top of a bell-tower, right near the old brassy ringer, at midday. He has his head shoved up inside the bell, and he’s sure the metal is going to hit his face again, but he doesn’t move. Someone has tied him to the tower, over an Omegan rack, but unwound it, _crack crack crack_ , so he’s upright like a mannequin, with all his ankles and wrists and waist and neck and forehead pulled tight against the rack with thick heavy leather, looped into the smallest belt-hole, and now he can’t even twitch before the inside of the bell hits him again, and again, and again. There’s a fire nearby, he thinks, because he can hear a crackling, like flames eating up a log. _Crack crack crack_.

Slowly, he can feel himself being untied. His wrists begin to tingle first. Then, his chest, and he can feel his breathing. _In. In. In. In. In._ Then, his toes tingle, and his ankles, and finally his head. _Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. In. In. In. In. Out. In. Out._ And it feels like someone has been trying to tenderise his flesh for consumption. They must have done a bad job, because he’s not dead yet. The inside of his head hurts, and he can feel a growling, a deep reverberation that travels all the way down his back and into his toes, and he thinks that maybe someone let a wild animal out, somewhere around here. Maybe the animal got scared by the loud noises of the bell or the crackling of the fire. _In. In. Out. In. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. In. In. In. In._ And, his breathing is a bit uneven. But, that makes sense; anyone would be scared of a wild animal.

===

Jude awakens in his bed the next day, like any other day, and gets up and goes to school. When dressing he realises he’s sore, and he has some nasty gouges that trail around his throat, but Mister Sawyer hadn’t used the belt-end and Jude is made of stronger stuff than people assume. No one would notice anyway; the school is too crowded and teachers have bigger things to worry about than some kids’ backyard scrapes. Alpha proceeds to sleep all day, only on edge when Marty from Art Class tries to approach Jude for a friendship – Alpha doesn’t like friends, he only wants a _pack_ and a _mate_ , so Jude is pretty socially isolated at his school – but apart from that, his inner protector mostly rests for tonight’s inevitable confrontation. Jude isn’t too bothered by much of anything today and he spends the whole day out of his head, and barely realises he’s arriving back at Mister Sawyer’s house until he opens the front door and recognises the faint miasma of home; cheap beer and old-man sweat. He’s still a ghost on his feet, having not shaken off the detached feeling of yesterday, but he’s starting to feel more real with every step that he takes.

He slips open the door silently, and hangs his backpack on the hook out in the hall. The Omega is splayed out with lassitude on the couch, as he usually is, eyes glazed as he stares listlessly at the television, and Jude simply creeps past him and hides out in his room for the afternoon. He works a little on some homework, and doodles, but he’s never felt much drive to do well in school when there isn’t anyone to do well for. He isn’t able to concentrate anyway because Alpha won’t stop pacing nervously right outside his vision, certain that Mister Sawyer would _do_ something tonight. _Stupid beast_ , Jude thinks, still a little ticked off from yesterday’s whole shebang; Mister Sawyer isn’t likely to beat on him two nights in a row. He’s got no energy left, having expelled it all yesterday.

Noting the time on the wall, almost six ‘o’ clock, Jude slips off his bed, stashing his work beneath the covers – Mister Sawyer would skin him if he saw he’d made a mess – and creeps out into the kitchen. A cold bowl of Mac and Cheese rests on the dining room table, and Jude pulls out a chair and begins to chow down, having not eaten anything since breakfast.

“What do you say, son?” Mister Sawyer asks from the couch, scrolling through the channels. He sounds aloof and uninterested, but Jude knows him well enough to see that this is a test, a question. _Is Jude going to go all Alpha insubordinate tonight?_ Jude knows Mister Sawyer isn’t really looking for a fight, but he’ll hurt him if he has to.

Jude doesn’t talk sometimes, and Mister Sawyer knows that, and he’s not trying to pick a fight tonight. Mister Sawyer isn’t expecting words but he is expecting gratitude. Alpha lifts his head higher in insult, knowing this scene well enough that even _he_ – illiterate dog, that he is – understands what Jude is about to do. Jude steps out from the chair and onto his knees, bowing his head in respect. He hears Mister Sawyer hum from the couch, and waits to be told to get up.

He floats up from himself again, and waits, lying against the ceiling, looking down, eyes closed in sleep. He isn’t certain how much time passes, but when he hears the magic words his neck hurts from the strain and his knees pound in time with his heart.

“Up, son.” Mister Sawyer dismisses him, and unfolds himself out onto the slim couch to sleep. He pulls a decorative cushion beneath his head and lowers the volume on the TV to about 11 rather than 40. Hannah Montana sings quietly from the Disney Channel, a re-run no doubt.

Jude returns to his ice-cold Mac and Cheese, the cheese overly wet and the pasta swimming in pools of water, and pretends not to feel Alpha’s chafing presence. It’s just him now. He’s in his own apartment, in New York. He has a view, and a double bed, and a potted plant in the corner, and an easy Omega- Alpha growls, and Jude wants to throw his hands up in the air. He’d thought Alpha _wanted_ a mate! He begins to fantasise again, mouth scrunched up in annoyance. He’s in his New York apartment with the terrace view and the comfy bed. In his bed, is a Beta, a very gorgeous Beta who will bear him many children, has wide birthing hips, is very virile, and- Alpha rebuts this fantasy as well, and Jude almost bends the spoon in his anger before he thinks better of it. _Fine, you big dog, I’ll make one we both like!_

He’s alone in his New York apartment, with just Alpha, just them, safe forever- Alpha whines, and curls up in displeasure. Jude’s brow is furrowed in confusion. Omega, Beta, or alone. Aren’t they the only options? Alpha grunts one word that stops Jude in his tracks, _Alpha_.

_Yes,_ Jude responds carefully, not used to open discourse with Alpha. _You are an Alpha._

_Alpha, Alpha, Alpha_ Alpha chants, which doesn’t really clarify anything for Jude whatsoever.

He tries to take a step back from his Alpha, specifically, to imagine what any Alpha wants; food, pack, a mate and security. When he re-engages with his fantasy-life, hoping to remain uninterrupted this time, he pictures a long dining table with a feast of food; lots of dripping meats, fatty fried foods and leafy greens. Alpha hums with contentment in the back of his mind. Jude pictures a very safe Californian house, big enough for a whole pack, with an obsessive amount of locks on the door. He imagines little children to provide for and take care of. Alpha groans in satisfaction, his whole body tingling with pleasure at the thought. Jude tentatively reaches out a hand, inside his mind, to stroke the fearsome beast. Alpha tenses, gingerly, but Jude as strokes down his back and continues to let images fly through his head, Alpha relaxes. A pack that would respect them. Four- Alpha whines. No, five children. Little black-haired mini-Judes. Callie is there too, Auntie Callie, feeding their youngest, a bright spit-fire Alpha- Alpha growls lowly at the thought of competition – who respects them too much to even ever consider taking their title. The growl lets out. And, in the centre of this fantasy is a mate. Alpha’s ears flick up in curiosity. Jude takes this as a good sign. A mate, that has brought them many pups and who is a strong supportive character for the pack. Alpha huffs happily. So far, so good. A busty – happy yip – beautiful – another pleasant hum – female – no arguments there – Omega?

The fantasy shatters, and Alpha rears back from Jude’s affectionate hand, roaring loudly in displeasure. Jude pulls away to the front of his mind, and stares down into his cold empty bowl of Mac and Cheese. Some people he guesses he’ll just never understand.

Feeling disheartened, Jude ghosts his way to the sink and puts his bowl in the sink. He glances at Mister Sawyer to check that he’s still fast asleep, and breathes deeply in relief at the sound of his ogre-like snores. Seeing his chance - as once Mister Sawyer falls asleep, he usually _stays_ asleep - Jude steals the landline from the wall and checks the missed calls. Sure enough, Callie’s voice sounds through in a quick message, _“I’m coming for you, baby. Don’t worry._ ”, in a deep voice so as to disguise her identity. He notices that Mister Sawyer has also recalled the number a few times, but luckily seems to have done so during school hours, and whatever phone Callie had used hadn’t picked up.

He presses recall, holding his breath tightly and wiping his hands on his pants as the phone rings out once, twice, three times, fou-

“Hey, baby, it’s me. What’s going on?” Callie’s voice is hurried and concerned, and he can imagine her face in his mind’s eye, scrunched up with dark eyes.

Jude breathes, twice. He can’t seem to articulate anything.

“What do you mean?” Callie asks, and he wants to reassure her, feeling words bubbling up in his throat, before a deep thump emanates from the couch. Jude faces his body away from the sound, and focuses on Callie’s voice. He thinks if he can just keep talking to her, it will all be okay. Alpha picks himself up from his displeased slump and pads forward to the front of Jude’s mind. “What’s going on?” She asks, from down the line, and he’s about to answer when-

Mister Sawyer rips the phone from Jude’s hand and says, voice reedy and darkly comedic, “You little _bitch_. It’s you. I should have known; of _course_ , it’s you! Oh no, I don’t think I’ll put him back on the phone. Do you know why, little _slut_? Because your itsy bitsy little brother is _my_ foster son, and you are just a girl with _no_ credibility. So, I think, as his _father_ , I have any and all control over who he speaks to.” Mister Sawyer hangs up the phone, and places it calmly into its slot on the wall.

Jude doesn’t move and he doesn’t tremble. Alpha growls half in pride, half in preparation. After Mister Sawyer finding him on the phone, _again_ , Jude _knows_ that tonight will make yesterday look like nothing but the opening act.

The boxy man turns, and grips Jude’s chin between his thumb and finger. His eyes glow in the night, like a beast let out to play, and Jude whimpers, hanging out of his grip like a cub by the neck. Alpha _screams_.

“What did I say about the phone, son?”

_Not to use it, sir. No phones, sir. No outside contact, sir._

Mister Sawyer throws Jude to the ground and spits on him. The glob catches Jude right in the eye, and it stings mildly. Jude wants to curl up in shame and despair. Mister Sawyer walks back to the couch and sits calmly.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

His voice is a perfect storm of calm, and Jude has this particular vice of hating that tone of voice. The same tone that had delivered the doubly abysmal news that not only his mother was dead, but his father was in jail for her death at the same time. This calm quiet controlled anger, that is so much more terrifying than the time Ms. Sidley had broken a vase over his back in rage or when Mr. Olmstead had screamed at Callie for sleeping with her son, holding Jude up by the neck and threatening to break it as punishment for his sister’s crime.

_Kill me_ Jude thinks, even though the question is rhetorical. He’s never been able to quite bow down, and even now, while his life hangs in the balance, and he can see Mister Sawyer’s eyes staring at the top drawer, the drawer he keeps his loaded gun in, Jude still has irrepressible spunk. Alpha grins bloodily from his mind, bouncing from the walls with eagerness. He’s always liked a blood-match.

Jude sleep-walks over to the dishes and begins to scrub deeply. As his last act before death, it isn’t very memorable, but at least it stays true to his character; quiet, unchallenging, alone and ultimately powerless.

Alpha prowls like a panther, nosing the edges of Jude’s mind, as if looking for an exit. The joke’s on him, since Jude is as trapped as he’ll ever be, and even if Alpha were to escape the confines of his mind, that in no way means he would be free.

Hands working mechanically, he zones out, even the lull of the luke warm water fading as he enters his fantasy world once more. He’s in his apartment in California, trimming his bonsai tree while a small child bounces on his knee. Her name is Sherry, a calming Beta presence in their calm little household. She has a fascination with horses and the colour blue and when she grows up she wants to be a horse hair-dresser. Jude paints her nails and dresses her up, even though such a thing is meant to be for Omegas. Sherry loves playing dress-up with him, since at school she needs to learn boring things like Dynamic Etiquette and to defer to Alphas and impose on Omegas. At home, all she needs to do is smile.

Alpha pokes his head out from the walls, calming down at Jude’s latest fantasy. _Feed her,_ Alpha orders. _Kill and bring her food_.

Jude figures there’s no harm in imagining, and the scene changes from a tidy apartment to the green homestead of a forest. He’s on all fours, teaching Sherry how to hunt, in his Alphan form. His body is massive and hulking, and if he wished, he could easily bowl over these thin spindly trees that mark their passage. He ducks down low, belly on the ground as he crawls across, nose twitching at the smell of live game. Sherry smells it too, and nuzzles the ground behind him, alert and ready to learn. Jude pounces and-

A knock on the door. Jude blinks slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the washing up as Mister Sawyer lugs himself up to answer the door.

“Hello? Is anybody home? I need help.” A teenage boy's muffled voice sounds, and Jude stays perfectly still.

“Hang on,” Mister Sawyer grumbles as he makes his way to the door. The boy keeps knocking.

“Are you deaf or what?” Mister Sawyer opens it up, hand still on the handle in case he needs to slam it abruptly, looking ruffled at having been interrupted. He eyes the boy suspiciously. Ever since Callie’s phone call, he’s been keeping the front door locked, and sleeping near the back door – the lock of which had been broken long before Jude arrived here.

“Can I help you?”

“Uh, yes, sir.” The boy pauses, and Jude winces privately to himself. Alpha is up on all fours again, pacing. He doesn’t like strangers. “I, um, I was looking for the metro.”

All of a sudden, Alpha freezes, and Jude feels his head turning to the back door, by instinct alone. He sniffs twice; _pack_. Every hair on Jude’s body stands on ends all at once, and he feels a squeal of terror building in his throat. As much as he’s fantasised over having Callie swoop in and save him, he’d never expected her to actually do it. He doesn’t want her to get hurt, and Mister Sawyer is already furious enough with Jude’s misdemeanours that he’d surely execute Callie just to prove a point.

Mister Sawyer, still busy with the boy at the door, doesn’t hear the door click shut, and Jude sets down the dish he’d been drying. He loosens his muscles, ready for a chase, and feels Alpha smoothly transition himself into leader-mode. Alone at the house, Alpha has no one to impress, but once Callie and this mystery boy enter the picture, now he needs to prove himself as worthy of the pack. He can feel Alpha’s worry from here; _what if this new boy is the Alpha to Callie’s pack?_

“Whoa, hey, what the hell are you doing here?” And, just like that, Mister Sawyer has spotted Callie and is off like a rocket. Pointing aggressively, he approaches her, shoulders hunched forward and eyes glowing with confusion. Jude feels the tension in the air like a bug crawling under his skin.

Callie steps forward too, her jaw muscles tense in anticipation. Jude sees the fear and concern in her eyes as they run over him, checking for marks – of course, there are no visible marks to be seen from her distance, as the friction burns from last night's belting have faded somewhat – before she meets Mister Sawyer’s in a dominance match. Their staring contest lasts barely more than a second, before Callie says, determined and defiant, “I just want to talk to Jude.”

Mister Sawyer is already sick of her presence, and strides closer, volume rising, “No! Shut up! No! No, get out of this house!”

Callie’s hand comes out defensively as he gestures violently towards her. Her fear is more visible, and Alpha curses in Jude’s head, because showing her fear means she has already lost. “One second…”

“Hey, shut up!”

“OK, look. I am sorry about your car…” Callie pleads, backed up against the wall.

“No, get out of here!” Mister Sawyer slams forward, hoisting Callie by the shoulder and shaking her roughly. She flinches away, no doubt remembering the last person she saw at his hand; the bloody mess of Jude the Frozen Bystander.

The new boy races through the door. He’s only a Beta, Jude notices, but the clothes he wears are clean and he is taller than Callie and probably stronger. _Mine to protect_ , Alpha disagrees, just waiting until Jude moves from this spot to hijack the body and pounce.

“Hey, don’t touch her!” The new boy says, while Callie grapples for a second, face taut with exertion. He's twice her size. _Smash_. In their struggle, an urn falls from the shelving and Callie uses Mister Sawyer's distraction to knee him in the stomach, hard. The older man grimaces, eyes brightening with resolve, and he shoves open the top drawer. Jude is frozen on the spot, and feels a million miles away, as if he is only watching this occur on the television rather than right in front of his eyes.

Mister Sawyer withdraws his gun and turns away from Callie, aiming it at the boy.

“OK, shut up,” Mister Sawyer demands, hand steady as he points it. Jude knows the gun is armed; he watched Mister Sawyer refill it just that morning, checking that the bullets were new and ready.

“OK,” says the new boy, eyes wide with fright and hands raised in surrender, “OK, OK, OK.” Jude wryly thinks that saying 'OK' over and over again, is technically not shutting up.

A loud click sounds from behind them, and they all turn in unison to see Callie trying to open the back door in order to escape and perhaps call for help. Mister Sawyer shakes his head, “Girlie.” He redirects the gun to her, and Jude is dead in this moment. He is dead and not breathing and _Callie can’t die_.

“Stop!” Says the new boy, idiot that he seems to be. Rule number one of not dying in an unarmed gun-fight; don't draw unnecessary attention to yourself. Jude is fabulously following rule number one, much to Alpha's chagrin.

“You know what, buddy? Just shut up!” Mister Sawyer exclaims, sounding too serious as he aims at the new boy’s chest. The new boy is shaking too, shaking in his boots, but somehow Callie has already managed to gain enough loyalty from this Beta that he’s willing to risk his life for her. In a fit of delirium, Jude wonders randomly if she showed her breasts or mating sac; he hears that Betas would do anything for attention from an Omega. 

For some reason, he can hear bells in the distance, or maybe sirens, or maybe he's going mad. Jude clamps hands over his ears and tries to look away. He doesn’t think Mister Sawyer is going to let Callie or this new indebted Beta get away without a shot going off, and he doesn’t want to hear the ricochet of the bullet, or the subsequent scream of pain. Jude's as stiff as a plank and he can't really feel his body. None of this feels real.

More words are exchanged, but it hardly matters now. Both parties are set in what they desire; Mister Sawyer had planned to shoot someone tonight either way and Callie has never been one to back down, not even when she should. Caught up in panic, Jude has the wild thought that maybe Mister Sawyer has already shot both of them. Maybe Jude missed it. Maybe she's already dead, and the boy's dead, and he's next. Jude has the strange startling realisation that he doesn't want to die. 

He doesn't want to die. He hates the sight of blood. Jude suddenly feels like this whole thing is just a dream he's having. Everything feels 2D. He wonders if heaven exists. Everything feels flimsy. He wonders, no longer able to hear himself breathe, if he's going to go to heaven. 

Just as all hope seems lost, the door bangs open, and Jude, for the first time in his life, is relieved to see a police officer. Another more experienced gun enters the fray and the blonde Omega comes forward and aims at Mister Sawyer,

“Police! Freeze! Freeze, get down on your knees now!”

Mister Sawyer jerks back, and must get arrested, but Jude can hardly focus on that, because Callie comes towards him and pulls him into her embrace. His pack bond sings, and just her smell calms his heartbeat to a normal rate. He leans his head against her and lets her cry into his hair. Alpha slips between their legs and nuzzles up against both pack members. Sirens echo on in the background and the sweet sounds of Mister Sawyer’s dismissed pleas not to go to jail fill the air in a sweet symphony.

===


End file.
